Rage is a love note born of the ache of injustice.
Hand painted in protest signs, held in the centers
of clenched fists thrown skyward.

It’s not an evil to be squelched,
With hastily written op-ed columns
Chilling odes to civility and firm handshakes.

Rage is empathy. A procession of pallbearers
Weight-shifting to carry it. A hand over yours,
Sweaty palmed promise of here with not here for.

Treat rage not as petulant child, but as crone mother,
Wise enough to know what happens when
One tries to be polite to men with guns.